by G. P McKenna
I stopped in my tracks, unsure that I’d heard him correctly, “with who?”
“The Warlock,” Pogue repeated. Yep, that’s who I thought he’d said, “the one who was poisoning the lake. There was only one Warlock there, the rest were Blackbriar mages. Blackbriar idiots. They didn’t even set up any lookouts, so it was easy to slip into their tents and slit their throats while they slept, but the Warlock,” he dropped his hands from his face and swallowed slowly, looking like he was about to hurl, “he lept up as soon I stepped into his tent. I don’t think he was ever sleeping. He challenged me to a fair fight. A Warlock, can you believe it?” No, I couldn’t, “he fought fair too. He was so powerful and would’ve beaten me hands down in minutes if not for my sword. My sword, it’s not a normal-”
“It’s the Casteel sword, I know,” I said, waving my hand.
Pogue looked up and scowled, but cleared his throat and continued, “well, the Casteel sword reflects magical energy. I don’t know why or how, but apparently it does. It bounced all the Warlocks’ attacks back at him. It saved my life. The Warlock was so impressed that he surrendered. Actually surrendered. I was meant to kill him like the others. Maybe more than the others, because he was the one actually doing the poisoning, but then he offered to reverse it. He was so powerful and honourable, so I thought why not make a deal? He could keep his life if he helped me find Ilya and bring him back.”
“And?”
“Don’t you get it?” Pogue exclaimed and jumped up. He moved over to the swords and picked Kazia up tightly, taking a deep breath “I let a dangerous Warlock live because I was selfish. That’s not what the Shield does. That’s why the Deities are punishing me.”
“Saving somebody’s life is never selfish.”
“Maybe not, but he didn’t even do that,” Pogue growled and turned to me, his hands shaking, “by the time we figured out where Ilya was, and Pierous opened a window to the Umbra to take a look it was too late. Somebody was already shoving Ilya back into this realm. So really, I let an enemy live just to hitch a ride to the landing area.”
He looked up as if searching my face for some form of judgement, but there was none to be found for my face was frozen, “Pierous?”
Pogue frowned, “you know him?”
That was one way to put it. I shook my head, “you said he opened a window to the Umbra?”
“Yeah, why?”
At least one fight broke out every year during the annual conference of the magical arts in Bethany because the mages could never agree on whether such magic was even possible. It was taboo. Had such rituals ever existed they were lost to the ages, and to date, nobody, mage or Warlock, had publicly admitted to successfully replicating them in any meaningful way. The one thing universally agreed upon was that realm jumping would require unprecedented energy resources to accomplish. There weren’t small enough words to explain that to Pogue though, so I simply shrugged, “such magic would take lots of energy is all.”
“Well believe me, Pierous has loads. He’s over three-hundred years old,” Pogue said. He’d have to be. Unless he was a natural warlock. I wasn’t sure which possibility was worse.
Walking back over to Ilya, I placed my fingers against his lips. No air, hot or cold, caressed them, but I hadn’t expected it to. Pierous. If the Warlock was both powerful and knowledgeable enough to open a door into another realm, maybe he also knew other forms of forbidden magic. Dark magic. And technically speaking, he still owed Pogue a favour. “Where is Pierous now?”
“I dunno,” Pogue said and walked to my side, “he was being held in the mages workshop downstairs, but Commander Ramsey moved him somewhere more permanent.”
“Hmm,” I parted Ilya’s lips. So cold and devoid of life. Like Sedna in their cage.
“Kilco,” Pogue said slowly, “whatever you’re thinking, unthink it. Not even Amicia knows where he’s kept, only Ramsey, and he was so angry that I brought him back he won’t say.”
“He doesn’t need to,” I said and smirked at Pogue, “I already know. Pierous told me.”
Twenty One
Myxophobia
Fear of slime
“Are you sure this is the right door?” I asked for what must’ve been the tenth time in as many minutes. Pogue sighed wearily and placed his hands on his hips. For somebody who spoke so confidently, he certainly didn’t look too sure of himself. He glanced at me and then back to the circular door we were standing in front of. It was the smallest one in the Armoury’s cathedral hall, and even the mosaics decorating it seemed more chipped than any others. I crossed my own arms over my chest, “are you sure, because it doesn’t look like it gets much use?”
“Of course I’m sure, this is my home,” he grinned brightly and reached for the handle, “you were expecting something else, huh?” I was expecting skulls and crossbones. Something that screamed about the danger the door supposedly hid. I wasn’t expecting a door that looked like little more than a broom closet. Pogue’s grin grew brighter, “it’s not fancy or nothing because fancy doors are made to attract attention. The cages don’t need no more attention.” With a small laugh Pogue tugged on the handle. It didn’t move an inch. The grin fell from his face.
“Again, are you certain?” I asked.
“Yes,” he exclaimed, and pulled again. The door creaked under his violent motion but remained stuck. Pogue gave it a kick and turned me with a pathetic, almost pleading look, “it’s the right door. I know it is. It’s meant to be open. Doors are only locked here when…”
That animalistic growl erupted from his throat, and turned on his heels, sprinting towards one the larger doors. I threw up my hands and called after him, but he didn’t stop as he reached for the door handle. That one didn’t resist as he ripped it open, and disappeared inside, and with little other choice, I chased after him.
It was a steep wooden staircase, the handrails made of thick roots of a flowering gourd that twisted through the bark walls with life. Looking up, I couldn’t see a roof, or even where the staircase ended, but I could see Pogue three flights ahead of me. Taking three steps at a time, his movements unfaltering with a speed I could never match. On instinct, I called to him, and on instinct, he appeared to pause, looking back as if he couldn’t recognize me. As if frozen in place, he stood there as I struggled to take the stairs to him as quickly as possible, my chest overwhelmed by the scent of rose high in the air. Pogue’s daze seemed to break as I set foot on his staircase, and he blinked rapidly, frowning as he reached out to me. Even through the leather of his gloves his hand felt cold.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said through panting breaths, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because you’re not meant to be here,” he said and lifted his foot to continue, but the moment he did a red ball of fur fell upon the step in front of him, extending a tiny paw out in a poor imitation of a power-hungry perimeter guard.
“Stop.”
Immediately I did. The squirrel had spoken but considering everything that had happened in the previous three days that didn’t particularly shock me. After all, we were in the Armoury. There was a fae nursery in the hall, mythical monsters in the bowels, and a human sword in the nest. Of course the squirrel could speak, but the voice it had spoken in had been deep and buttery. It wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from the mouth of the Royal announcer. It did sound out of place coming from an adorable ball of fluff with cheeks squishy enough to smush. The voice that sounded so inherently comforting became uncanny when spoken from a button-shaped mouth, and I couldn’t help but openly gawk. Pogue seemed less impressed.
“Get out of my way, Ratatoskr.”
“No can do, Pogo,” the squirrel knocked his tiny fists together, “Mr Blessed one doesn’t want your company right now.”
“What?” Pogue looked taken aback, “why not?”
“Didn’t say,” Ratatoskr sniffed, his long and abnormally puffed ears twitching as he turned those deep, beautiful eyes on me, “girl, d
idn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to stare?” I nodded but didn’t remove my eyes from his adorable little face for a moment. If my fists hadn’t been so tightly clenched I wouldn’t have been able to resist reaching out to bop his nose. The squirrel tutted, voice jarring in comparison to his form, “then you should know better than to keep gawking at me like I’m a fish out of water.”
Fish out of water? What a stupid analogy. The Mariquil were normal, Ratatoskr was not. Still, I nodded dumbly, “I’m trying.”
“Well try harder,” he leapt onto the handrail to get a closer look, “who are you anyway?”
“Kilco.”
“Kilco?” Ratatoskr scoffed, “what sorta name is Kilco? Don’t answer that, I don’t care. Why’d you bring titty sprinkles with you anyways, Pogo?”
Pogue groaned and raked a hand through his hair, “don’t call her that. It’s rude.”
“It’s only rude if it ain’t true, and she’s hardly a boulder jugs, is she?” Ratatoskr skirted over to the opposite side, “you definitely like ‘em young and bony, Pogo. Your pet blood-eyes could use with a good feasting too.” he leapt back onto the step and shook his head, his ears bouncing all the while majestically, “anyway, that ain’t my business. What is my business is why you’re here, so tell me, what do you want this time?”
Pogue’s face bunched up, “why do you always think I want something?”
“Well, when was the last time you visited without wanting something?” Ratatoskr asked.
Pogue blushed and stomped his feet, “sorry, I’ve been real busy lately,” he sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, “but I got some bad news. Ilya… died three days ago.”
“Who?” Ratatoskr asked then puffed out his cheeks when Pogue snarled, “down boy. Alric’s runt. I already knew that. You know nothing happens here that I don’t know about,” he looked at me with something akin to a mischievous glint, “nothing at all.” The gleam passed as quickly as it had come, and Ratatoskr turned back to Pogue, his nose twitching, “for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your little friend. I only met him that once, but he seemed like an okay kid. Took himself way too serious like his ma, but okay.”
“Thanks,” Pogue muttered. A moment of silence passed before he cleared his throat, posture straightening as he met Ratatoskr’s eye, “but that’s not why I’m here. I’m not here to see Orden either.”
The squirrel’s eyes widened as he tipped his head to the side, “the Shield isn’t here for guidance from the Sword or to indulge in some home fries? Interesting.”
Pogue stood up taller, “I want to talk to Pierous the Immortal.”
“Even more interesting,” Ratatoskr shook his head, “but the inner sanctum is locked.”
“I know Ratr,” Pogue sighed, “that’s why I’m here. Pierous is the only one who can help me: I need to talk to him. I know you won’t help for free, but you owe me a favour.”
Ratatoskr’s nose twitched as he huffed, “Since when do I owe you a favour?”
“Since you started that poker ring in the lower cages and got Nidhogg-”
“Ay hey! Not so loud,” Ratatoskr scattered onto Pogue’s shoulder to flick his earlobe, “you know the roots have these. Okay, you’ve pulled on my heartstrings. I’ll help you, so long as you promise to forget all about that little misadventure into entrepreneurship.”
“Forgot what?” Pogue said and zipped his lips.
Ratatoskr scoffed and puffed out his cheek. At first, I thought it was in annoyance at the Shields childishness, but he then began to shuffle and stick his paw inside his mouth before withdrawing an ornate brass key with a wet pop. I raised my brows, “You keep keys inside your mouth?”
“Where else do you suggest I keep them? Nature’s pocket. Snort ‘em up my nose perhaps?” I wasn’t sure how to answer such a question, but Ratatoskr didn’t seem interested in one as he shook his head and leapt from Pogue’s shoulder to dash down the barrister with surprising agility.
Trying to follow him was like following a red blur as he led us back to the Cathedral, and using his bushy tail, catapulted himself into a tiny hidey hole atop the circular door. A minute ticked by with nothing but the chirping of birds and running of the waterfall. I looked to Pogue, wondering if the pesky rodent had abandoned us, but he put his finger in front of his nose with a frown. And so, I remained silent. Another minute passed, then another, until finally there was the slightest sound of scratching from behind the door, which was followed by a loud click before the door was swung open with more force than was perhaps necessary. It slammed into its neighbour with a bang as Ratatoskr lodged himself off the inside handle and landed with a graceful summersault. He straightened up with a dramatic bow, making puny clapping sounds with his paws. Pogue joined in with equal enthusiasm as I glanced around the Cathedral, convinced it was all some big cosmic prank, only to find we were alone.
“Thank you, thank you,” Ratatoskr said with one final bow. Chuckling nervously, he quickly took his place on Pogue’s shoulder and leaned in close, “there’s just one small thing you should probably know before heading down there.”
“What is it?” Pogue said in a tone more serious than a talking squirrel warranted.
Ratatoskr made a smacking sound with his mouth, “the inner sanctum has changed a bit since you last went down there. That’s why it’s locked. The Morrigan might of opened some of the other cages on its way out. Or maybe somebody else did by accident. It’s all a bit fuzzy.”
“I see,” Pogue said slowly. He looked at me for a long moment before shrugging, “well, I got the Casteel sword. If we run into any nasties down there, I’ll clean them all up. No worries.”
“Oh good, I was hoping you’d say that,” Ratatoskr nodded enthusiastically, “some final words just in case you do make it: that Warlock is insufferable. Unlike me, he won’t help you outta the goodness of his heart, and there’s only so much somebody in his position can ask for. Think hard before you agree to any of his demands. Warlocks are very sneaky.”
“Don’t worry Ratr,” Pogue said as he shooed the squirrel off his shoulder, “I’m the Shield of Ascot, I know what I’m doing.” He said that with so much confidence that it filled my heart with dread.
With bated breath, I watched as Pogue stepped into the all-consuming darkness that awaited on the opposite side of the door. Then it was my turn. The air inside smelt like drought-ridden dirt and burning eucalyptus. It tasted stale, leaving a gritty that coated my tongue. But there could be no turning back. Still looking over my shoulder, I stepped over the threshold. The atmosphere was instantly different; colder and humid. No sooner had my foot stepped inside than Ratatoskr had leapt back on the doorknob with a sinister glint in his beady eyes.
The inner sanctum wasn’t dark, it was nothingness. It was being captured within my own head, and there was no worse place to be than there. I took a deep breath and held out my arms, hoping to find anything to tell me where was where and who was who? It couldn’t be that hard to guess. But it was cold down there, the overwhelming heat and humidity of a forest so nearby sucked out by an endless quilt that penetrated my bones and prickled my skin in a layer of sweat that no mere water would ever wash off. The illusion was rough, but so was I, and the constant mutterings of the Shield behind me kept the others at bay.
“Light, light, gotta get some light.”
I wasn’t alone in my head because he was there too, right behind me…behind me? Frowning, I spun in the direction of Pogue’s voice. He couldn’t have been behind me. Again, I reached out in an attempt to orientate myself, and again there was nothing. Where were the walls that had been so constrictive? Pogue was muttering, but in the complete opposite direction than before. In front? Behind? I couldn’t guess. It seemed every time I turned, he would too, his voice echoing all around. My heartbeat painfully in my chest, “Pogue?”
Silence. Nothing. I held my bag close. It contained nothing but water and stolen healing goods, but right then it was my only salvation from madne
ss. The only thing that existed to assure me that I was still alive in a physical plane. “Pogue?” my voice echoed.
A blue orb appeared in front of my face. Its flame was so bright in the darkness that I had to close my eyes, least it burned my retinas. When I opened them again Pogue’s worried face was inches from mine, “What’s the matter?” he asked, “your breathing is all funny.”
“I didn’t know where you went.”
“I’ve been two steps that way,” he tipped his head to my left with a laugh, “don’t worry, it’s just the tree playing games with you. It’s a right old trickster, but you can’t blame it. You’d get bored too, standing in the same place for thousands of years.”
“Right,” I muttered and looked around as my eyes adjusted to the light. We weren’t in the corridor we had entered in. There were no walls at all, at least, none that I could see from the large wooden podium we were standing upon. Frayed rope bridges darted off it in every direction. Surely we hadn’t crossed one of them? I would’ve felt it swaying if we had, yet there was no other way to have arrived where we were. More bridges stretched high above, but I couldn’t see any roof or end to the void. I cautiously moved closer to where Pogue was leaning against a wooden handrail and looked over. Several thick columns of water fell like stoneless waterfalls to meet in a faraway pool of glowing orange. It was the only thing visible that wasn’t illuminated by Pogue’s blue orb.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Dunno,” Pogue held out the orb and squinted over the ledge, “that’s never been there before.”
“Hmm,” I grunted and looked at the light in his hands, “you never said you knew magic,”
“Orden thought it was a good life skill,” he explained, opening and closing his palm while smiling, “I ain’t no mage, but I know a few tricks. I mean, it gets dark in here, and it is a tree. Torches aren’t the smartest of ideas.”